Drunk
by Enkida
Summary: Series of character driven drabbles for the ff 100 community centered around the theme 'Drunk.'
1. Author Foreword

**DRUNK: Author Foreword**

* * *

Hey everyone. This is a series of drabbles that Seventhe actually inadvertently prompted me to start writing on a whim. 

It's all for the livejournal FF100 community, which basically hands out a theme and asks participants to write 100-300 word responses to that theme. Intriguing and fun because it's fast, and for someone as verbose as me rather difficult to pare ideas down to their bare essentials. Almost like writing poetry!

Anyway, each chapter is a short little drabble. I've done three so far, but my goal is to do a drabble for every main character in the original game, as well as Sephiroth and maybe a few of the Turks.

The theme for all drabbles is "drunk" - of course, uh, I take a lot of artistic liberty with the interpretation.

Got through all that? Time for the disclaimer:

FFVII is property of Square-Enix. They own all rights to the franchise, and I only hope they don't come after me for using the characters in my fanfiction. I'm fairly certain they won't because I'm not making a profit from any of this writing, I only do this for fun.

So! Onto the fiction.

- Enkida


	2. White Noise

**CLOUD: White Noise **

* * *

"It's not your fault."

Those words undo him. How she can stand there with such forgiveness in her eyes? He tries to make her understand over the hiss of white noise that is blanketing his thoughts.

"I …" but it refuses to collate. _I am not I._ "I'm -"

A whisper of moisture across his knuckles provides a moment of clarity: ribbons of red against the pale of her skin, the green of her eyes.

_What have I done?_

When the nebulous haze surrounds him again, he accepts the retreat it offers.

_I am not I._

His lips are moving. Are the words his own? Were they ever? He makes one last plea before he is consumed.

"If everything's a dream, don't wake me."


	3. Impulse

**AERIS: Impulse **

* * *

"It feels like I'm being led by something."

She smiles absently at the canopy, shaking her bangs out of her eyes. His presence is confused, questioning, but for once _he_ is not important. The call is what matters; the siren song which pulses through her veins, seeking release.

**Here,** it beckons. **Here.**

She begins to drift towards the melody, unable to ignore its pull. It tempts her with thoughts of warmth, of comfort, of no longer being alone -

His hesitation stops her abruptly. But this is more than simple curiosity; it is her destiny, her people. It is a chance for a new beginning. It is also a farewell. She turns to him one last time.

"Then, I'll be going now. I'll come back when it's all over."


	4. Hard

**TIFA: Hard **

* * *

"Give me something hard."

"Just a minute," she says, reaching for a bottle behind the counter. "I'll make one for you." Ice clatters noisily into a waiting glass.

He isn't looking at her. His eyes are bright but unfocused, always turned inwards. He is no longer the boy she once knew.

"You know," she tries, setting the cold drink before him, "I'm relieved you made it back safely." He brushes away her concern with a careless reply, and she polishes the already-spotless bar between them to hide her flinch.

"You were in SOLDIER," she says.

He sets his drink down and pushes away from the stool in response. Lightly she reminds him to collect his pay, but he's already drifted away. When the crown of his hair disappears beneath the floor, she releases her breath and leans heavily against the bar.

She didn't realize it would be this difficult; his feelings have changed. But her feelings have changed, too.

With a sigh, she reaches for his glass and tosses back its remains.


	5. Temptation

**BARRET: Temptation**

* * *

She left the bottle out carelessly on the bar. It promises relief - amber ensconed by shining glass. Corel, Dyne, family. Let it go. Pass it on. It wasn't your fault. Just one taste, and you'll know paradise - or at least you'll forget. 

He reaches for it -

"Papa!"

Only one voice could be sweeter than oblivion. The whiskey stands, forgotten for now - a small victory in his never-ending war. His phantom arm twitches as he smiles at his little girl. The siren call in his mind flares briefly in frustration, stumped once again - her voice is suspiciously similar to that of the owner of said bar. Only, _she_ would never tempt him like this - not with drink, at least.

She loves Cloud.

And it reminds him of yet another reason to keep reaching for that bottle.


	6. Sweaty Palms

**REEVE: Sweaty Palms**

* * *

Drunk. He has to be drunk. There's no other explanation for it.

Never before has the flash of her exposed midriff garnered his admittedly short attention span. Nor were her shorts ever so sinfully tight. Well, maybe that last bit wasn't exactly true. But never before did he _notice._

He buries his hands back into the twining mess of wires lumped before him and tries to ignore the sound of her lips pressing together as she pops her gum. Cait squeaks in indignation when his sweaty palms short one of the cat's delicate circuits.

"Yeowch! Sounds like that hurt!" He hasn't turned around, but he knows she's smiling and it makes him sweat all the more. "Can't concentrate?" she asks.

She doesn't know the half of it. He wonders why she has to stand so close.

"Maybe you're getting old, eh, Reeve?"

He is not noticing the swell of her calf when he glances over his shoulder. His eyes did not just trace the inner line of that gently sloping thigh. He forces himself to look up at her face - youthful, familiar but so different now. He'd been hoping the promotion would bring her closer to his office - which it did, technically, but having her inside the WRO building is still an exceedingly rare occasion. Maybe he'll arrange another assassination attempt. That might force her to stick around more...

"Earth to Reeve," she calls in her singsong voice, waving a hand in front of his face.

"I just had too much to drink," he finally answers with a smile.


End file.
